“I must, Henny.”
“Oh! no, no. Memorize what happened at Raison River, an’ at Ham’ton, how dey nyder spared sexes nor ages—nyder ole paralytic men nor little babies, nor der young moders—dem leastes’ ob all. Don’t mist’ess, dear.”
“I must Henny. It is the only chance of saving your brother.”
“Oh, dear me! Oh, my heart’s ready for to break; but nebber mind—don’t go, mist’ess, don’t go. Let him die, mist’ess, tain’t nothin’ only but death arter all! an’ Admirable Cockburn, ’save his funnelly soul, can’t do nuffin’ ’tall but kill him. An’, poor fellow, he hadn’ long to live no how, wid a’sumption in his breas’, an’ so it on’y comes a little sooner an’ a little deffunt like. Don’t go, Miss Kate, dear, let him die. I’se his sister, an’ I’se been a mammy to him, but I sez so, an’ he’d say so, too, brother Jack would, ef he could on’y speak long o’ you! Sure he’d lay down his life willin’, an’ so would us all, sooner ’an you should fall in wid Admirable Cockburn.”
“I know it, Henny! I know it! Don’t talk to me any longer, though every word you say but fixes my resolution to go.”
“Oh, Miss Kate! oh! don’t, don’t,” exclaimed Henny, clasping her knees, and repeating all the arguments and entreaties she had used before. But Catherine was firm as sad.
“If you mus’ make an effort, sen’ a messenger long of a note, Miss Kate. Dar! do dat—now dat’s a good trought.”
“Ah, Heaven forbid! I have had enough of risking poor ignorant creatures, who cannot keep themselves out of danger.”
“Well, den, Miss Kate, who is you gwine for to take long o’ you, to wait on you, chile?”
“There, give me my hat, Henny.”